


One man, Divided

by euromagpie



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3482507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two gods come to an agreement concerning their favourite Son.</p><p>(This is potentially offensive to religious folk, so think carefully if you want to subject yourself to my version of Jesus and Odin)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One man, Divided

Outside of Ragnar Lothbrok’s house stand two men. Snow falls around them but does not land, their feet leave no print in the snow. A couple of children run through the swirling white, barely a hair’s breadth past them, and notice them not. They are both tall, one young and slim, almost emancipated-looking, with dark skin and a halo of black hair caught in a spiked crown. The other looks as though he had been hewn of the stark mountains of Scandinavia, flint-faced, with an obsidian eye. A tall spear is stabbed into frozen earth. Together they stand and look at the wooden walls, as though they are in fact seeing something beyond them.

One speaks,

“When he passes, I wish to take him” says the crowned man. One-Eye laughs.

“He is no longer yours boy, he has rebuked you”.

“In the day he may sing your praises, Allfather, but it is I who comfort him during his waking nights. He is far more Christian than Pagan”.

“Can you say that when he is driving an axe into his enemy, drunk on furor? I thought your followers are not to indulge in such ‘savage’ behavious, Yeshua”.

The young man looked disgusted.

“Do not call me that. Many holy men have killed; this son does so for the protection of others. A noble cause, even you cannot object”.

“But I can. He is loved in Kattegat, he need not go on these raids, yet he does. Like a true norseman, he longs for the glory, the wealth of pillage” Odin argues.

Jesus gently shakes his head, folding scarred hands before him.

“He is true to me. He reaches not for your bloody sacrifices but for the blessings of the Visions I send him-“

“I send him Visions also. The Little Priest watches them too” Odin argues, pulling Gungnir from its frosted sheath. Settling it at his side, he cocks his head like a raven as he sees into the Lothbrok’s home.

“All you will have him do is sit by your Throne, writing your Books. I wish for the Little Priest to dine in my hall; he will be with his family” he says.

If he were talking to Freya or Loki at this moment, a battle would already be underway. But the Christian God was a strange one; he was calm, possessed with a quiet strength like the dark waves that lap at Scandinavia’s shores. Instead of rising in fury at the implied slight, a quiet sigh escapes dark lips.

“He may not even die in battle, Allfather. What will you do then? He is not so much yours that you can condemn him to your Hel” He says. Odin hacked and spat.

“I can say the same of you, Yeshua. Your followers write of your hatred for many things; he has lain with woman and man many times since he has come into my arms. Will you instead allow him to burn in the flames of your Underworld?”

“I love all my creations. You know I hate not those who act in love, whichever form it may take, only grieve for those who act in hate. I will take my Son up to heaven when he is ready”.

For a moment the two deities stood in silence, the Northern wind grasping at their clothing, sending cloak and robe fluttering into the air, folds booming like thunder. From the harbour comes the sound of waves crashing against dark shores, joining the crescendo of wind and snow cum hail. Odin took Gungnir and drew a line in the earth.

“If the Little Priest is struck down by blade or axe in battle, if he is beside his comrades and falls true, my Valkyries will bring him to my Hall, or the fields of Freya, as is her right”. He stabs the earth on his side of the line.

“But, if his bones grow tired of his soul, or Skadi’s poisoned darts send him to final sleep, I will not lay claim to him; he will be your Son once more, to sit at your feet on high. Agreed?” The spear stuck hard just beyond Jesus’ scarred feet.

For a moment, the Christian God looked at Odin, and his gaze was like that of a father, faced with a son caught in the throes of sickness and, even though he has a multitude of sons, the possibility of his death sends tears from the father’s eyes. Such was Jesus’ gaze, before he turned once more to what he and the Allfather had been watching before; the priest, Athelstan, wrapped in blankets and furs to ward against the homicidal Norse winter and the demons beyond his mind. The names of many gods tumbled from his sleeping lips in the night. Jesus and Odin were both called upon to soothe his troubled mind.

Like a dove’s wing-stroke, Jesus’ answer flew away into the night.

“Agreed”.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more of Greek/Roman mythology student, and one of the euphemisms for dying of sickness is being pierced by Artemis' poisonous dart, and I love it, so I kinda repeated it here. Also, kudos if you spot the Homeric similie.


End file.
